


Dragon Age: Light of the Maker

by vaulthunter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Mage Rebellion, Multi, also about that confusing amell thing there actually is a real amell just uhh, anyway, but same amell concept, didnt follow the origin, female amell (except not rly bc she's orlesian & her surname is mottiere), hella inspired by GOT's track "light of the seven", if that wasn't evident already
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaulthunter/pseuds/vaulthunter
Summary: (NOVEL VERSION) The Blight has ended. The Breach is sealed. The mages and templars are at a standstill, waiting on bated breath for the newly crowned Divine Victoria to exact her decree. For the first time in twelve years, Thedas is quiet, but the heroes that have rose from its strife and war know all too well that the only calm Thedas is associated with is that of before a storm. When a mage queen powered by revenge embarks on a rebellion to pluck the last string tethering the mages to an ancient oppression, Thedas is once more torn asunder. Standing upon the precipice of change, the leaders of the world are forced into a choice - fight this change with every fiber of their being, or leap into the abyss?





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> So, there's a lot of AU and canon retcon going on in this story. First - several Wardens from the Origins stories fought against the Blight in this story, including an Aeducan and an Amell. That Aeducan later became the queen and Warden-Commander of Orzammar, while that Amell later became the Warden-Commander and married an Antivan merchant prince. 
> 
> Also, most importantly, Cailan didn't die on the field of Ostagar. Rescued by Flemeth alongside the Wardens, and fell in love with our main character here, Miryam Mottiere, of whom he made his queen.
> 
> I know it's a lot. Bear with me. Enjoy!

_**|| PROLOGUE ||** _

_**✖ KNIGHT-CAPTAIN AMAURY ✖** _

_"As the People danced over the corpses_

_Of slain soldiers, a thunder filled the air_

_And the ground trembled, and a hush fell over them,_

_As they knew a terrible omen had come."_

_— Canticle of Shartan 9:15_

* * *

 

The new Divine was young, but her scars and calluses and ragged hair proclaimed wisdom and tribulation beyond her years. She sat at the high table beside her Left Hand, eyes scanning over the room with caution and unease. Her position was clearly something she hadn't expected to get, and no doubt all of the attention coming from her coronation ceremony was completely new territory to her. First a templar recruit, then a Seeker, then the Right Hand of the Divine, and now the Divine herself. Cassandra Pentaghast was a busy woman.

She wasn't the only one filling shoes she had precious little experience with. Knight-Captain Amaury Renou had been appointed just shy of two weeks ago. His duties included training the recruits, filling out heaps of paperwork, and emptying the Knight-Commander's chamber pot. He had only been a templar for five years, but due to the dwindling numbers of the order following the mage rebellion and Corypheus's slaughter, there wasn't anyone more experienced and qualified willing to be Captain. Most were suffering from insanity, courtesy of red lyrium, and those who weren't had either gone rogue or perished in battle. Amaury, young upstart though he was, was the only option Knight-Commander Ludovic had in selecting a Captain.

Amaury's coronation had been much less grandiose. A bottle of wine and a signature applied to a piece of parchment and it was over. Not that he minded - he hated being the center of attention. Speaking from experience, he could tell the Divine did, too, judging by how she kept shifting uncomfortably and excusing herself. 

The young Knight-Captain heaved a sigh from where he sat amidst the crowd. The Commander was to his right, watching over the celebration with critical eyes. He was a bit of an extremist, but Amaury believed in him, and he believed in the templar's cause. The Breach and what came out of it was proof enough that mages needed to be closely monitored and never given the benefit of the doubt. Amaury had seen firsthand the damage a single mage gone astray could cause. His gaze flickered to the ground, reminisce. 

"I fear this Divine will be sympathetic to the mages," Ludovic grumbled in an aside to his Captain. The Commander was old, with sleek grey hair and harsh brown eyes. He still filled out the uniform well, however. "She is a puppet to the mage Inquisitor. No doubt, that woman has been whispering in her ear about freedom and liberty owed to her kind." He spat. "Pah."

The Captain's gaze flickered to the elven Inquisitor, with her mess of reddish-brown curls and dangling gold jewelry. The Dalish tattoos on her face and the wildness of her hair made her stand out as a savage among luxurious nobles, but she didn't seem to care, a smile on her face as she chatted amiably with the people around her. 

"Cassandra was a Seeker, wasn't she?" Amaury watched the woman as she played with her food, moving a chunk of steak around with her fork. "Seekers are basically next-tier templars. She was the Right Hand of Divine Justinia, too. No way she'd fall to the manipulation of a mage, even if that mage  _is_ her friend."

Ludovic side-eyed his companion. "Anyone can fall to the manipulation of a mage," he growled. "You should know that better than anyone, boy."

Amaury grew quiet. The Commander was right, of course. His mage sister had showed signs of corruption as early as six months before she became a full-fledged abomination, but Amaury had always just mistaken it for teenage hormones. That had been a fatal mistake for his parents when Rudy murdered them.  _We must remain vigilant._

The evening wore on. It felt like an eternity had passed before it was time for the Divine's acceptance speech. Many mages were attending this ceremony, waiting on bated breath for the Divine to deliver their fate. Would they be granted the freedom they had been fighting for, or would they have to slink back to the Circles in defeat, their efforts for naught? Templars alike were in wait. Would they return to their duties and rebuild, or would the champions of the just turn in their armor and make their livelihood elsewhere? 

All eyes fell on Divine Victoria for answers. She stood at the front of the hall in soft pink and gold robes, her crown mimicking the shape of the Chantry sunburst. To her left, Leliana stood a pace's behind, and to her right, the place stood vacant, as a Right Hand had yet to be elected. 

Divine Victoria cleared her throats. "People of Thedas," she began. "We have suffered heavy losses at the behest of Corypheus. With his end, we can look towards a new beginning, free of war and strife. It is my honor to restore what Corypheus could never destroy - that of the Maker's word and light." A pause as applause spread throughout the hall. Divine Victoria swallowed hard and continued once the hall had quieted. 

"A year ago, mages and templars convened as one in the righteous hope for a ceasefire. And a year later, following the tragic death of my predecessor and a war like none Thedas has ever seen, we convene once more in the hopes of peace. True peace. It is my wish to reach a conclusion that will appease both sides of this conflict, and I believe that the plan I and my confidants have concocted will achieve this.

"The Circle of Magi will be restored-" A hundred breaths hitched. Ludovic smiled. "-but not the Circle we have come to know. It will act more as an academy than a prison, with mages having complete access to family visitations, the opportunity to vacation outside of the Circle, and the annulment of the Harrowing ceremony." Murmurs of discontent spread among the templars, a volume that steadily rose the more it festered. Victoria raised her voice. "We cannot expect mages to resist temptation when we force them into it," she said, a growl to her tone that silenced the hall. It was clear then that she would not rule with the gentle sympathy and patience that Divine Justinia had, but with the intolerance and sternness of a warrior. Amaury was not quite sure if he liked that or not.

She let the silence continue for a moment to make sure the templars were done before continuing. "The templars will act as guards, not executioners. The Chantry will no longer tether them to their lyrium leash, as this practice has caused countless deaths, severe addictions, and corruption to run rampant in the templar ranks that I have seen myself firsthand. Senior templars may continue to take lyrium if they wish, but this will not be exacted on new recruits."

Knight-Commander Ludovic's face was going red with anger. 

Victoria allowed a long pause to allow the deliverance to sink in and to work up the courage to relay the next bit. She heaved an audibly deep breath. "Lastly. The Rite of Tranquility will no longer be allowed. For any reason, under any circumstance."

That did it in for the Commander. He stood up in outrage. "This is unbelievable!" he exclaimed. "You promised a plan to appease both sides. It's clear to me you seek only to pacify the mages!"

The warrior in the Divine overcame the holiness once more. Warningly, she took a step towards the Commander. "For centuries, the rulings against magic have been biased and in favor of the templars. This bias is what caused the rebellion. Fewer than three-thousand templars remain, and to rebuild, we must look to the future. A future favorable for  _both_ sides. If you wish to live in the past, Commander, you can die in it." 

Ludovic glared daggers at the woman. Amaury thought he might draw his sword and charge at her, but instead, he spun on his heel and marched from the hall with the fury of a disturbed dragon. Several templars followed, and for a fleeting moment, Amaury was lost. If he walked out that door, would the templars be considered traitors? Was this the start of a  _templar_ rebellion? 

He was afraid. 

But he stood, because he didn't know anything else. He knew that his family was dead at the hands of a mage, he knew that Corypheus, also a mage, had torn the sky asunder and seeded all of this corruption within the templar ranks. Seeded all of that corruption into the templar  _cause_. There was always a fool out there giving the benefit of the doubt to a mage.

And there was always a fool out there getting possessed and using blood magic to enslave innocents.

Amaury followed the Knight-Commander out of the Winter Palace.


	2. BLADE OF THE FAITH

_**CHAPTER I: BLADE OF THE FAITH** _

_**☼ QUEEN MIRYAM ☼** _

_"I covered my face, fearful,_  
_But the Lady took my hands from my eyes,  
Saying, 'Remember the Fire. You must pass  
Through it alone to be forged anew.  
Look! Look upon the Light so you  
May lead others through the darkness,  
Blade of the Faith!"_  
—  _Canticle of Exaltations 1:10_

* * *

The silver-haired queen smiled as she watched her son run through the gardens, brandishing a wooden sword at invisible enemies. He had the heart of his father, the warrior, despite favoring Miryam's appearance. Button-nosed, pouty-lipped, fair-skinned, silver-haired and brown-eyed, the boy was a spitting image of her, right down to his pudgy hands and freckles. But where Miryam found her pleasures in books and the occult, Vanedrin wanted all to do with swordplay and adventure. She was told by Cailan's uncle that Cailan had been the same way as a boy, skipping his princely duties to watch the soldiers train or to sneak his way into the larder. 

A troublemaker, but good-hearted. Not even Miryam could resist his big brown eyes and pouty lips whenever he hung his head in shame after getting into mischief. She laughed when he tripped on a bushel on his way to slay an evil darkspawn. Vanedrin popped up from the bushes, leaves and dirt in his hair, two missing front teeth on display as he grinned at his mother. "I'm okay!" he yelled, and took off running to take down the darkspawn. 

Miryam giggled and returned to the book in her lap. 

"I don't know what we would do without our fearless warrior to protect us," came a masculine voice. Miryam looked over her shoulder and smiled at her golden-haired husband as he approached her. 

"Yesterday he defeated a mighty dragon seeking to take me away as a treasure," she chirped in response, scooting closer to him when he took the seat next to her on the bench. "It was a close call. Had he not cut the dragon's head off, I'd have been claimed as a trophy and taken away to the Black City, where the beast hoarded all of his princesses and queens."

King Cailan laughed heartily. "It seems I owe him a great deal for saving my beloved wife's life."

"Yes, you do," she responded playfully. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Miryam passing a few pages in her book as Vanedrin ran around the gardens shouting heroic one-liners. Nightfall was almost upon them, the moon peaking through the clouds in all its illuminating glory. Guards strolled passively through, paying no mind to the little boy shoving past them and running into them on his way to protect the castle from darkspawn and dragons and demons. They were used to it by now, at any rate.

"Lys and Alistair are on their way for their summer visit," Cailan said, reaching over to take Miryam's hand in his. They had been married for ten years now, but their love for one another hadn't diminished at all. It couldn't, after all they had been through together with Loghain Mac Tir's betrayal and the Fifth Blight. "They ran into a bit of trouble while crossing the Waking Sea, but their letters say they won't be more than a week's time late."

Miryam grew visibly happier at the mention of their old friends, but concern blossomed on her expression at the mention of trouble. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"Nothing they couldn't handle, they say. We'll get an explanation when they arrive, I suppose." 

Miryam nodded, a crease in her brow. "I hope they aren't in danger."

Cailan chuckled. "Danger? Who would hold a grudge against two Heroes of the Blight?"

She frowned. "People held a grudge against me for being a mage and becoming queen. Even now, with ten years tenure." Countless assassination attempts and coups had been staged against her, but none had yielded any results or proved difficult to execute. The people of Ferelden adored their queen, mage though she was, but there would always be resistance. 

The king sobered, knowing this to be true, and knowing their marriage was the direct cause of it. "Well... Still. I doubt any grudge held against them is as wide-scale as the coups attempted against us. They'll be alright."

She nodded again, no choice but to agree. "I suppose you're right," she said, leaning into his shoulder, but she didn't feel much confidence in her statement. Lys wasn't a queen, but she still held plenty of influence over Nevarra's monarchy. Lys and Alistair were their dearest friends, their closest confidants and companions during the Blight. As true as Alistair was Cailan's brother, Lys was practically Miryam's sister, despite no shared blood. She always missed Lys, and anticipated the summer each year for the sole purpose of spending it with Lys. 

She settled into Cailan, growing comfortable and sleepy under the night's moonlight. Sometime later, the vague smell of something burning tickled her senses and woke her. It wasn't an unusual smell when it came to Denerim's royal palace. Often, the guards in training would conclude a day's worth of rigorous work around a campfire, or the kitchens would rev up the pots to prepare for morning's breakfast feast. 

Miryam didn't think anything of the smell until her son came sprinting down the cobblestone walkway, true fear in his eyes. He wasn't carrying his wooden sword, which told Miryam that this was not one of his games where the imaginary enemies overran the imaginary battlefield.

She sat up abruptly as Cailan stood to catch Vanedrin. "Vinny, what's wrong?" he prodded. The boy was out of breath, breathing hard, eyes wet. What appeared to be a bit of ash was covering his fair cheeks. 

"Fire," he breathed, chewing his thumb nervously. "Fire. Blood. The guards..."

Panic seeded itself into Miryam's heart, causing it to quicken and drum. She looked to Cailan for answers. He always knew what to do. Had the people who resisted her ruling finally grow enough in numbers to stage a successful coup? Was this the end of her blissful life of marriage and luxury? 

Cailan glanced around fervently. "We need to get you somewhere safe, Vinny. What about the guards? Did they hurt you? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head quickly. "I ran too fast for them. It was the guards, Papa. They started killing the other guards. They set the barracks on fire." 

"Take him." Cailan handed the toddler to Miryam, who took him willingly with shaky hands. "Get inside. Find someone... find Teagan, or... Don't trust anyone. Find Teagan."

"What about you?" Miryam pleaded.

"I'll be fine. Get Vanedrin somewhere safe." He took Miryam by the cheek and brought her in for a brief but passionate kiss. It was wet with Miryam's tears, as she felt this might be the last time he ever kissed her. It was over all too soon, and he was jogging down the walkway before she even had time to register the stakes. 

She kissed her son on the forehead, fearful, and ran towards the castle doors. Two men stepped out from behind the garden's archway vinyls, brandishing steel swords that glinted in the moonlight Miryam had found comfort in just moments prior. She yelped in shock and spun around, running in the opposite direction, but men were waiting for her there, too. She hugged her son tight and looked to the walkway where her husband had taken off down. He was standing off with two more men, circling. They were trapped.

"Here she is," cooed one of the traitors. "The mage queen, clutching onto her abomination spawn. The Divine sends her regards," he spat. "Kill her!

Miryam didn't know what to do. She was lost in her own home. The fires were stretching into the gardens, growing in girth and fury. A carefully executed irony, considering Miryam was a fire mage. Cornered and holding her child, she had no choice but to fight. She shifted Vanedrin to free one of her hands, reaching into the Fade and pulling from it the power of fire, summoning a ball of it and hurling it at the psuedo-guards in front of her. They rolled out of the way, missing the ball by inches. Behind her, the other two were closing in on her. While the front of her was cleared, she ran, struggling to hold both herself and her son.

Cailan was fighting vigilantly with the group in the walkway. Steel clashed against steel, ringing in the night as a warrior's dance ensued. Miryam couldn't throw any magic at them without catching Cailan in the crossfire. She was at an impasse. 

If she ran in the opposite direction of her husband, to her right, he would perish at the hands of these traitors. 

If she ran towards him in an attempt to help, to her left, she risked her son's life.

A decision stood before her, and she wept for it. The assassins were closing in on her once more. There was no time. 

Clutching her son tight, Miryam ran right. She kept running. And running. And running. And it felt like a lifetime of marriage and happiness had passed before she ran into something solid. Hands grabbed her shoulders. She screamed in shock, her palm becoming alight with fury and fire, daring whoever it was to try her. 

"Miryam! Miryam, stop!"

The voice was familiar. "It's me, Teagan!"

Her breaths came hard and labored like a madwoman. Her sheer gown of white had been greyed by ash and soot, torn and ripped by the thorns and branches of the shrubbery she'd been hauling through. Her silver hair had fallen out of its braids, tangled and astray. She did not look like the dainty and loving queen her people knew her to be. The moment her gaze touched Teagan's, those familiar, safe blue eyes of his, she collapsed, sobbing and holding onto her weeping son for dear life. Teagan caught her just before her knees crashed onto the stone, pulling her to her feet and tugging her to his chest.

"Come on, my queen. We have to go. Now." 

"Cailan..."

"I know. I know. We have to go." 

Her arms were stiff and aching. Teagan wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her steady, quickening his pace the closer they got to the palace gates. Guards were waiting for them, hands braced on the handles ready to push them open. Miryam practically hissed at the sight of them, shying away, but Teagan urged her to come.

"It's alright. They're not assassins," he told her. 

She still regarded them suspiciously as they passed through the gates. A carriage was waiting for them on the other side. Only when Miryam climbed into it did she see the true damage the coup had caused; the entire left side of the palace was being engulfed by flames. From within, screams and cries rung throughout the halls. And there was nothing Miryam could do to stop it.

Or to save Cailan.

She couldn't let go of Vanedrin, not even as the carriage was taking off. Her arms were paralyzed around him, his face buried into her chest, too afraid to look up even after they were halfway to the city's portcullis. Miryam's thoughts screamed at her to stop this carriage, leave Vanedrin with Teagan and go back, defend her husband, save him from certain death.

But she was frozen. In time, movement. She couldn't even wrap her mind around what had happened, much less what to do about it. Where were they going? What would they do? Who had done this?  _The Divine sends her regards._  The Divine advocated for mage freedom - she'd annulled the Harrowing and the Rite of Tranquility both. The Inquisitor, a mage herself, had attended the coronation with smiles and gratitude. 

Had it been a trick? A lie to catch the mages off guard? The Divine handed them a bone while her templar puppets held a knife to their backs. 

"Miryam!" Teagan yelled. The queen snapped out of it, wide-eyed gaze flickering towards the red-haired man. "We're going to Redcliffe," he said, his voice a distant antidote. "It's the safest place for you and Vinny to be until we figure this out. This never should have happened. Miryam, I'm so sorry."

Her gaze snapped back towards the ground as she swallowed hard. Shouldn't it have? For years, this had been building up. They knew this could have happened. Miryam's magic was a stain that would haunt her where ever she went. They had gotten too comfortable, too careless, too confident that the people part of the resistance were too weak in numbers and power to wreak any real damage. 

And now the king - that glorious king, who'd promised victory for Ostagar's forces all those years back despite the inevitable loss, whose light and confidence had shown so brightly it awoke a flame in Miryam Mottiere that had not shone so bright since her early childhood days in Orlais - was dead. He paid the price for Miryam's love. 

And Teagan had the nerve to be sorry for  _her_.


	3. A FRAGILE SHROUD OVER THE LIGHT

_**CHAPTER II: A FRAGILE SHROUD OVER THE LIGHT** _

_**☼  QUEEN MIRYAM  ☼** _

_"In dread I looked up once more  
And saw the darkness warp and crumble,  
For it was thin as samite,  
A fragile shroud over the Light  
Which turned it to ash."  
_  
—  _Canticle of Exaltations 1:11_

* * *

 

Redcliffe came unnoticed. The newly widowed queen didn't quite realize they'd arrived until the scent of manure and farmland was replaced by open air and the carriage began jolting as it rode across the bridge to Redcliffe's castle. This had been the first landmark they targeted when the Blight began, seeking allies with Arl Eamon's men, but had been greeted with something almost as dark and sinister as the darkspawn. Eamon's mage son, Connor, had been possessed, the demon within raising the dead to attack and harass the village each and every night. Connor's mother had been willing to sacrifice her own life to save her son - but that had been avoided, on account of Lys.

It'd been the day their party discovered their closest non-Warden companion was a blood mage. So blind in her rage towards her old friend Jowan - the mage responsible for poisoning the Arl, causing Redcliffe's plight, and more indirectly Miryam's conscription into the Wardens - Miryam had forced Lys to sacrifice his life instead of Isolde's. 

Jowan had been a fool, but just as victim to the paranoia of templar cruelty as any mage. Miryam hadn't seen that at the time. How afraid he was, of the templars, of being made Tranquil or killed, of losing his then-love Lilly. Never had she regretted her decisions so much as she did now, having witnessed the consequences of templars being in power. In that moment, she wondered where Jowan would be had she chose differently that day. Would he be alive? Tranquil? A fugitive, doomed to run from templar hunters for the rest of his life? Perhaps she could have conscripted him into the Wardens, like Duncan had done for her. 

Vanedrin stirred in her arms. She still hadn't let him go, despite Teagan insisting she needed to stretch her arms before they started cramping. But they'd cramped long ago, and at this point they were numb to it. As the big-eyed boy looked up at his mother, she reached over to wipe a bit of soot from his cheek. Bags hung beneath his eyes and his silver hair was grey with soot. No child should have ever look as frazzled as he did. 

"Mama, is papa alive?" he croaked quietly.

Miryam hesitated. She could have told him some motherly white lie.  _He's with the Maker now,_ or,  _Yes, honey, he's with us in spirit._ But false hope was crueler than any hard truth. She shook her head and looked away from him, hoping he was still too young to understand the weight of death.

The carriage rolled to a halt before Redcliffe's doors. Teagan hopped out and rushed over to Miryam's side to help her, but she shook him off, walking towards the castle on wobbly knees. The ascending stairs were even harder to approach. Each step sent a jolt of pain through her stiff thighs, causing her to grit her teeth to suppress a wince. Her pace was slow but steady, and Teagan stayed at her side despite being in much better shape. The guards readily opened the doors for them at their approach. 

The castle's interior was familiar, but brought no comfort. Long ago, Miryam had felt relieved to be standing beneath a ceiling on cushioned rugs. It'd reminded her of the Circle she'd spent her entire life prior in. Reaching the castle then had meant finding answers. Standing in it now, though, meant something was wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong. 

Isolde, Eamon, and Connor stood waiting for them, distress written on their expressions. No doubt word of the attack would have spread throughout the entire nation by now. The family had been ruling in Teagan's stead during the man's occasional trip to Denerim; often they switched positions to promote efficiency and mobility. Cailan and Miryam had done so, as well, whenever one or the other needed to act as an ambassador to a foreign country. 

Miryam wondered who she would pass the throne to now, should she need to leave it for a period of time. 

"Oh, Miri," Isolde gushed, rushing over to her to envelope her and Vanedrin into a tight hug that Miryam did not return. "I cannot even begin to imagine your pain right now," the Orlesian woman continued, hands braced on the queen's shoulders. "If there is anything we can do for you, anything at all..."

"Is King Cailan dead?" Connor demanded. 

Teagan nodded solemnly. "We didn't see his fall, but..."

Connor breathed a heavy sigh that was bordering a sob, covering his face with his hands. 

"What of you?" Eamon said gently, laying a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "Are you injured? Is the queen? Vanedrin?"

"I am fine," Teagan insisted. "As are they. The queen has yet to be inspected for any wounds, but-"

"I am fine," she gritted, shoving past Isolde to make way for the living quarters. The men stayed behind in silence, but Isolde followed, jogging to catch up to her.

Miryam took a right into the guest quarters. Not the chamber that had been marked as hers and Cailan's for whenever they stayed; sleeping on a bed that she had once shared with him would have been too much. The guest quarters weren't nearly as grandiose and luxurious as her usual, but they were fine.  _They_ were fine. 

Miryam didn't know what to do. She had known she wanted to be away from all the doting, but she didn't plan for when she actually did get away. She started with taking a seat in one of the cushioned chairs, as she felt her legs were getting progressively harder to stand on. Isolde stood in the doorway, fiddling with her fingers.

"I don't know if my company is welcome," she said softly. "But I am here, my lady. I, too, know the fear and weight of loss, as you well know." She did. Miryam could not argue that, and she appreciated the effort. Isolde had come dangerously close to losing both her husband and her son, and if not the latter, her own life. 

Then again, she hadn't. Miryam said nothing.

The Orlesian noble lady stopped a passing servant. "Fetch some water and lemon cakes," she ordered, and the servant nodded and went off to do her bidding. Miryam wondered if any of her own servants had survived the siege. Isolde crossed the threshold into the room and closed the door softly behind her, then strode over to the window to open the curtains. Light came abrupt to the darkened chambers. She turned to Miryam and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Have you gotten any rest? I should get you a change of clothes. I'm certain I have a gown or two that will fit you. And a bath..."

Miryam took a slow, deep breath. Shoulders up, then down. She closed her eyes and for a fleeting moment, she was home, in Cailan's arms, reading one of her books while he sharpened his blade. The sun felt warm on her skin and she was okay. They were happy.

She opened her eyes and he was gone, taking their happiness with him. "A bath and a change of clothes would do nicely," she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice. It was gravelly from all the smoke and lack of use.

"Of course. I'll return shortly." Isolde offered a reassuring smile before leaving the room to heed Miryam's request.

She breathed another sigh and stood, holding Vinny to her chest. She walked to the window and looked down from it at the sea beneath that lapped at the shores rhythmically. 

"Mama," Vinny said, shifting to look at her. "Are you alright?"

She paused for a long moment, refusing to look at him. "No, pup. Mama's not alright." 

He started shimmying, wanting to be put down. Miryam clutched him tighter. "Mama, I'm cramping. I want to stand," he protested. It took all of her strength to let him go, knowing he was only a boy, and boys needed to stretch, but still she felt like if she put him down it would be the last time she ever did. 

"Don't go far," she ordered, hands lingering on his shoulders.

"I won't, Mama, I'm right here." He yawned, stretching his arms and shaking his legs out. He moved to hug her leg, and Miryam realized then that he, too, was not alright.

She started crying. Quietly, at first, silent tears falling deftly down her rosy cheeks, and then her shoulders began to shake. The sobs came heavy as she collapsed, falling to her knees and holding her head in her hands. Little, pudgy hands moved to her back to hug her tight.

"It's okay, Mama, we're okay," he insisted, his words so familiar. 

It was a cruel irony. Cailan was her strength, and with him gone, Vanedrin took his place, soothing her where Cailan could no longer. But this time, the comfort did nothing for her as she rested her head on his little chest, her sobs beginning to wrack her entire body. Vanedrin stayed strong as he held his mother in her darkest hour.  _The heart of his father, despite favoring my appearance._

There was a knock on the door. Miryam took her sweet time in gathering herself, allowing her sobs to subside before wiping her tears away and standing abruptly. Her tattered skirts swept the floor as she moved towards the door, sniffling. The servant had arrived with the platter of lemon cakes and canister of water. 

"Thank you," Miryam said, taking the steel platter. Her arms began shaking violently when she outstretched them, and the moment she took the platter from the servant's hands, she dropped it. It clattered onto the marble floor with an abrupt ring, causing Miryam to flinch and retreat.

The servant yelped in surprise. "Oh! It's alright, my lady, I got-"

Miryam slammed the door in her face. 

She turned away, holding her hands to her chest, eyes wide. Her gaze touched Vanedrin's, his eyes alight with fear and worry. Then she unclenched her fists and forced her arms to her side, shaking her head at herself. She turned back to the door and opened it, finding the elven servant bent, scrambling to clean up the mess. Wordlessly, Miryam bent to help.

"Oh, no, my lady, that's alright. Thank you, though," the servant insisted.

Miryam ignored her, picking up the clumps of fluffy cake and tossing it onto the platter. She didn't stop until every crumb had been picked up. The servant let her go, suspecting that if she continued protesting, the queen would snap. Isolde came jogging down the corridor with a couple gowns in hand, stopping at the sight.

"Oh, Maker, what happened?" 

"Nothing serious, my lady," the servant answered. "It was just an accident." 

Isolde breathed a sigh of relief. "Why do you have our queen lady cleaning up your messes?" she scolded.

"It's fine," Miryam gritted. "It's my mess. I'll clean it." And she did. For fear of dropping it again, she allowed the servant to pick up the platter. The elf nodded curtly to the both of them and scrambled down the hallway, leaving the canister of water at the door. 

Isolde harrumphed and picked it up, ushering Miryam back into the room. She closed the door behind them. "The servants are fetching the bath water now," she said, laying the gowns out on the bed and setting the water down at the bedside table. "I didn't know if you would prefer something frilly and Orlesian, or simple and comfortable, so I brought both sides of the coin. I hope you like them, my lady."

Miryam reached for the simple and comfortable one, a velvet shift of cream and red. Isolde smiled, pleased, and stuffed the other dress into the empty wardrobe. She allowed a moment of silence before continuing to dote. "It's good to stay functional," she said. "I know... I know it must be the most difficult thing for you now, but you're doing very well, my lady. When Eamon fell sick, I could not think to even eat, much less change my clothes and stay clean. I admire you for much more than saving my son, Miri."

There was nothing to admire here. It was insulting for Isolde to believe the most difficult thing for Miryam right now was getting bathed and dressed, while her husband lay dead in an unmarked grave, likely nothing but ashes and blood. Isolde continued rambling and Vanedrin eventually curled up on the bed, where he fell asleep. The servants came and went with the bath water, filling the tub to the brim. Isolde helped Miryam out of her ruined gown and into the tub.

The warm water felt relieving to her aching body. Scars from the Blight dotted her skin, as well as stretchmarks on her stomach and breasts from carrying Vanedrin to term. The same body she had always known, but still it felt so strange and hollow, as if it was not her own any longer. As if she only laid claim to it because Cailan had loved it. 

Isolde brushed through her silver curls while she soaked in the tub, gentle and slow. Miryam might have fell asleep sometime during the bath, but by the time the water started going cold, she couldn't remember. Her limbs felt like jelly, but Isolde was there to help her out and into the velvet gown. Miryam glanced back at the bath water, finding it grey and muddied from all the grime that came with Denerim's siege. 

"I shall leave you to rest now, my lady," Isolde said finally after having laced the back of the gown - not nearly as tight as one would normally, which was a small mercy. "If ever there's anything you need, I am only a stride away. Leave the strategy and future to our men for now, and get some sleep." 

She left. A hollow silence was left behind in her midst. Miryam crawled into the bed, curling up beside her son, grateful she had him despite the dread that came with losing Cailan. But she did not fall asleep that day, nor many days to come.


	4. DARKNESS CLOAKED BOTH REALMS

_**CHAPTER III: DARKNESS CLOAKED BOTH REALMS** _

✧   _ **PRELATE LYS**_  ✧ 

_"And I looked up and saw_  
The seven gates of the Black City shatter  
And darkness cloaked both realms."

_—  Canticle of Exaltations 1:9_

* * *

The Prelate of the Nevarran Mortalitasi nearly sprinted to the Redcliffe castle portcullis, standing impatiently as it rose. The black-haired mage dunked under the portcullis the moment it rose high enough to do so and hiked her skirts, marching towards the doors. Behind her, her brutish warrior of a husband struggled to keep up. 

"I'm mourning too, you know," he muttered discontentedly when he finally reached her side. 

Lys didn't respond. She plowed through the doors and found Eamon and Teagan within the main chamber, conversing in hushed whispers. "Where is she?" the mage demanded.

"The guest chambers," Eamon answered tiredly. "First door to the right." 

She and Alistair headed in that direction. Just before Lys burst through the door, she remembered her dear friend must have been grieving and upset, so she composed herself and knocked softly on the wooden door. Due to the trouble they ran into while crossing the Waking Sea, Lys was more than a week late to reach Miryam. She and Alistair were supposed to have arrived in Denerim to a feast and festivities, staying up late into the night catching up with their old friends, their children playing together until exhaustion. Instead, they were given word halfway to Denerim that the king was dead and his widow in Redcliffe licking her wounds.

Lys had stabbed the man to speak so disrespectfully with an ice crystal. 

The door opened. Across the threshold, the silver-haired queen stood, dark circles beneath her bloodshot eyes, her skin pale and her shoulders slacked. Their gazes locked, and for a moment, Lys was struck into a silence. Not even during the Blight, when sleepless nights were commonplace and mindless husks whose sole purpose was to destroy everything in its path lurked around every corner, did Miryam look as defeated as she did now.

If all thoughts of Nevarra's current predicament weren't gone already, they certainly were now. "Oh, no," Lys breathed, pulling Miri into a tight hug. Lys didn't often express physical affection, if at all, but all of her routine rules when it came to contact with others typically didn't apply to Miri. Especially now. 

When they separated, Miri moved to Alistair, breaking into tears at the sight of him. Lys rubbed her back as Alistair embraced her, tears of his own falling down his cheeks. He'd been inconsolable since the news reached them, pouring out all of his regrets when it came to his half-brother; I didn't spend enough time with him. I didn't even get to really know him until the Blight. I wish I hadn't been so bitter all those years.

Lys had become proficient at consoling her... delicate husband, but some matters simply weren't meant to be soothed. If he was crying over the mabari catching a cold, fine - but the death of his brother was something he would have to work through at his own pace. Lys herself loved Cailan, as well; blubbering idiot though he had been. They'd argued and pecked at each other more than anything, but they were first to defend one another, too. 

A small, tired voice came from within the chamber. "Aunt Lys?" 

She mustered up a smile and moved to pick up the child. Eilonwy and Fritz, her own children, stayed behind in Gwaren under Wynne's supervision. Knowing that the two never knew how to behave, be it under any circumstance, they would be fine with Wynne until Lys could get the queen moving. 

She sized up the room, trying to gauge how severe Miri's emotional state was. The bed sheets were untidy - that was never a good sign. Miri was always vigilant in making the bed every time she got out of it. There was an untouched cup of tea on the bedside table, and a set of robes on the lounge chair Lys suspected had been delivered days ago. She wondered if anyone had been checking on her. Isolde, perhaps?  _Even so, Isolde is a sycophant and knows nothing,_ Lys thought as she stroked Vinny's hair. Isolde wouldn't know what to look for, what to pay attention to. She didn't know Miri picked at her nails and tugged at her hair when upset. She didn't know Miri's hair was never free of braids unless she wasn't properly taking care of herself. Did she even check to see if the tea had been drunk? 

"Thank you for coming," Miri said quietly, stepping out of Alistair's arms and back into the room. Lys snapped out of her monologue to look towards the girl. "It... well, you know."

Lys's brow creased. "When do you plan on returning to Denerim, dear?"

She looked down. "I'm uncertain. Eamon's men are still scouring the city to ensure it's safe to go back."

The other reason Eamon's men would be scouring the city went unsaid. To find the king's body. Lys nodded in understanding. "Who did it?"

Miryam shrugged.

She was hiding something. Lys set Vanedrin on the bed and took a step towards the queen. "Miri. Who did it?"

"Templars? I don't know. Does it matter?" She shoved past Lys and sat down on the bed next to her son, pulling him to her chest. Lys's gaze briefly touched Alistair's, who stood leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his sternum. 

"It matters, Miryam," Lys insisted, turning to face her. "Did the assassins... say anything? Were they wearing a certain armor?"

She barked a humorless laugh. "Ours."

The necromancer frowned. 

"The Divine sends her regards, Lys." Miri glared at her. "The Divine sends her regards."

Alistair straightened up.

"The Divine?" That didn't make any sense. Lys reached up to tuck a strand of raven black hair behind her ear, beginning to pace the room as she tried to connect the dots. She knew Divine Victoria personally - or, well, the woman behind Divine Victoria. Cassandra Pentaghast was a woman of honor. She would never stage something like this, least of all to a mother and father. 

_Perhaps it wasn't the Divine at all. Perhaps this has something to do with the Van Markham's. Or the Tevinteri. Maker, please tell me my political outings didn't do this._

She would not put it past her enemies to go for her loved ones.

But Miryam knew nothing about what was happening in Nevarra aside from public knowledge. So King Markus was old and weak and playing the part of the cockroach that just won't die. The Van Markham's were pining for his power, as were hundreds of distant Pentaghast cousins, and tensions with Tevinter grew more intense by the day. Lys had done quite a few less than honorable things to achieve her ends and ensure a war didn't break out (civil or otherwise). The prospect of her enemies coming after Miri and Cailan... it was not so implausible. 

Lys looked back to her dearest friend, seated on the bed and stroking Vanedrin's back. It was unlike the boy to be so quiet. Normally, his lips went a mile a minute while he relayed thousands of his heroic deeds while Lys was away. He'd slayed fifteen dragons and killed millions of darkspawn the last time Lys had visited. 

He was still so young. Only two years old. Lys wondered if his grief was his or a mimicking of his mother's. Either way, it was palpable. 

Lys moved to sit next to Miryam. "You know you eventually have to take up your duties," she said softly. "With Cailan gone, you have never been more vulnerable. You gained a thousand enemies upon his death, people who only tolerated you because of him. Be weak and grieve for him, Miri. But do not let it show." 

"They have not even recovered his body yet," she snapped in a growl.

Lys was well accustomed to Miri's temper. Sweet girl, but remarkably hot-headed. "Do you think your enemies are taking that into account?" She laid a hand on Miri's cheek and turned it to force the girl to look at her. "You don't have to be strong.  _Appear_ strong. If you must play the part of the unaffected widow that married for power, do it. Do  _not_ give them this victory." Of course, Miri's marriage to Cailan had been anything but a power trip. Their love for one another burned brighter than the flame that killed Andraste. 

Alistair joined them, leaning against the foot post. "Did you... see it? Is he really gone? For sure?"

Miri's annoyance with Lys's lecture shifted to empathy when she looked up at Alistair and nodded. Alistair's gaze immediately shifted to his wife's, glossy with despair, flicking back and forth between Lys's red orbs in search of reassurance. The small, sad smile she offered him did not reach her eyes.

There was a knock on the door. Four sets of eyes flickered towards it accusingly, and a moment later, it opened to reveal Eamon. He had always been old, for as long as Lys had known him, but now he looked the part, too.

"My scouts have returned," he announced. "Denerim is safe to return to."

"And Cailan?" Alistair prompted quickly.

Eamon nodded, a subtle gesture of affirmation towards the news nobody wanted to accept. 

That was it, then. Tomorrow, they would leave for Denerim to say their farewells to the king that promised. Lys had always planned for the future, mapping out every possible scenario and consequence to any action she could take. But this, going forward, she was at a loss. Would Miryam rule alone? Would she try to pass the throne to Alistair? Would she pass it to Anora Mac Tir? 

Lys knew Miryam better than anyone. But Miryam was not Miryam without Cailan, and not even Lys could predict what would come of this.


End file.
